


The Mesmer Affair

by VioletMoodSwings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Headcanon Compliant, Hypnotism, Kink, Multi, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletMoodSwings/pseuds/VioletMoodSwings
Summary: A hypnotized "Molly dolly" is the keystone of Moriarty's current game with Sherlock. Winner keeps the nuclear launch codes. A kinky, dub-con Sherlolliarty smutfest ahead!





	The Mesmer Affair

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for good background music for this, I wrote it listening to the "Beborn Beton" Spotify channel (German synthpop, woo woo!) and a fantastic fan playlist called "Moriarty's iPod," also on Spotify.
> 
> Thanks to my dear friend PaleFenix for the beta read!

**The Mesmer Affair**

Sherlock paused suddenly to listen as he wound his way through the top level of the nearly-constructed 10-story office block. Was that the wind whistling through the windowless fresh bones of the building or a careless movement from his quarry? He knew Moriarty would have perched at the very top or burrowed at the very bottom—nothing in between would do—but the basement did not afford a stunning view of the Thames. Sherlock rounded a corridor into a wide room, the breeze ruffling the tail of his overcoat. A warm, inviting light poured from an open door across the room, a stark contrast to the gloam of the city night by which Sherlock had navigated thus far.

A sing-song Irish lilt wafted out from the door. “Sherl-eeeee… come towards the liiiiiight...”

Sherlock steeled himself, his footfalls light across the bare concrete floor. Every muscle in his body tensed as he approached the door. Peering cautiously from just outside, Sherlock found a lavishly furnished corner office, complete with plush carpet, an obscenely large mahogany desk, and vivid abstract paintings on the wall. There was a crystal decanter with brown liquor on the desk. Overstuffed leather arm chairs sat before it, with a matching sofa along the wall. The only thing lacking was glass in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Arms akimbo in his immaculate suit, Sherlock’s devilish counterpart posed in the center of the room with a toothy grin. Next to him a waist-high figure sat covered in a white sheet, like a statue waiting to be unveiled.

“I’m so pleased you’re here,” Moriarty purred. “I thought maybe my little puzzle had stumped you. But not our Sherlock, oh no. He’s the cleverest of clogs, isn’t he?” He patted the head of the figure next to him. It shifted away as best it could. “Well, perhaps not the cleverest but a close second.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Moriarty?”

“I love it when you say my name, darling.”

Sherlock knew that Moriarty would give up the launch codes if he paid the price. He hated that even just inquiring about that price felt like asking for a favor. Sherlock simply stared expectantly.

“You never take me dancing anymore,” Moriarty pouted.

Sherlock’s cheek twitched slightly at this. “You’re wasting my time. The National Guard is on their way and—”

“With their tanks and their bombs, and their bombs and their guns. How _obvious_. How dull,” Moriarty huffed. He mimicked being hanged by tugging the tails of his silk tie above his head, tongue lolling from his mouth.

Abruptly he righted himself, a gleam in his chocolate-colored iris. “Let’s play a game. Winner take all.”

Here it came. The two men stared at each other in stony anticipation. Finally Moriarty’s impatience overcame him. He rolled his eyes to the heavens and heaved a sigh.

“Yes, right, fine, we’ll skip the witty villain/hero banter and proceed directly to… the maaaaain event!” He winked and whipped the sheet off the figure next to him.

A gagged Molly Hooper knelt next to the Irishman’s freshly-buffed wingtips, her lazy ponytail frazzled by the bed sheet. Still covered by a lab coat, her normally frumpy garb evidenced a struggle, bunched and twisted around her slender frame. Sherlock deduced the top buttons of her patterned blouse had come undone in the fray, but had been left just so to evince a sympathetic reflex in him. The white cotton bra that peeked out below told him she had not expected anyone to see her underthings today. Her hands were bound behind her back, loosely tied to her ankles above bare feet by expert knots. With her white knickers jammed in her mouth, not even John Watson would have been in doubt of what lay underneath Molly’s khaki cargo skirt. She bore no visible bruises or lacerations, so her long-dried tear stains were likely from the moments surrounding her abduction, no doubt undertaken by some trusted thug.

Sherlock could not bring himself to meet Molly’s eyes directly, despite the wealth of information that could be harvested there. If he had, he would have found them resolute in her faith, with no question as to where that faith was placed.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly and his breathing sped almost imperceptibly. Moriarty noticed immediately and hooted with glee.

“She’s pleased to see you, I’d wager, but not as pleased as she’ll be shortly,” Moriarty said with a smirk. “Are you beginning to parse together what kind of game I’m proposing?”

Moriarty pulled a switchblade from the pocket of his trousers and held Sherlock’s gaze as he flicked it open with a “snick.” He let the tang of menace hang in the air before bending over to slice Molly free of her bondage. “As much fun as they are, you won’t be needing those anymore.”

With the blade he nudged Molly’s ponytail off her shoulder and put his lips to her ear. “I’d say we were about to make your wettest, wildest dreams come true, but I’m sure they were quite ordinary compared to what’s in store,” he murmured, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. Gooseflesh marched across Molly’s skin at the heat of his breath. He clicked the blade closed and put it back into his pocket.

For once, Moriarty was incorrect. Behind her mousy exterior, Molly had an extensive and imaginative fantasy life that Jim from IT had never bothered delving into. This scenario was right out of something from her spank bank, though she never would have wished for the actual terror that brought it to fruition. Despite the distressing manner of her arrival in this situation, Molly’s knickers would have started to dampen if they hadn’t already been soaked in her saliva.

Moriarty slowly pulled Molly’s makeshift gag from her mouth and put it to his nose as he stood. He locked eyes with Sherlock and gave the knickers a decadent whiff, humming his approval.

“I’ll relieve you of your suspense: whomever makes your mousy little Molly orgasm the most wins.” He tossed the knickers aside.

Logically, Sherlock had known it was headed in this direction, but was still unsettled to hear it said aloud. In the fleeting moments that sex crossed his crowded mind, the petite pathologist had a recurring role. So had his enigmatic equal. Sherlock’s reaction to these pesky permutations often resulted in midnight dissections and bullet holes in Mrs. Hudson’s wall.

The casual observer would have thought Sherlock’s continued silence part of a plan, but Moriarty knew better; he’d put his rival at a loss for words as that brilliant mind searched for any avenue out of this. Before Sherlock could deduce his way out, Moriarty needed to ensure that Sherlock would perform.

“I don’t even have to touch her,” Moriarty stated confidently.

He turned to Molly and offered a hand up, crotch directly in front of her face. Blushing, Molly’s eyes darted briefly to his wolfish smirk. She took his hand and rose, legs wobbling after so long on her knees. Moriarty pulled her towards the couch. He positioned her as if to sit, but held onto her shoulders with an almost tender grasp. He caught her gaze with his own.

“I _dare_ you to look away, Molly Hooper.” His words held a threat she did not care to decipher. Her heart sped and her nether regions tingled. Moriarty was... flirting with her? Molly found herself unwilling—perhaps incapable of—taking the dare.

When it was clear Molly was completely skewered by his penetrating, and frankly panty-dropping, gaze, his cruel eyes softened, as did his voice.

“I know you’ve had quite the challenging day, little mouse,” he murmured, “but that’s all over now. Your Sherlock is here and you’ve nothing to fear.” The corner of his mouth quirked at his own unintentional rhyme.

The very visceral understanding that she shouldn’t believe a word that came out of this fascinating man’s mouth began to evaporate with the calming tones of his dulcet voice. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the deep pool of his intense eyes. In a world where no one ever noticed her, Molly was mesmerized by his attentiveness. It was probably an act, all part of this game he played for Sherlock’s benefit, but at this moment Molly found she could not care.

Moriarty rocked Molly gently from side to side. She relaxed into the movement without realizing and swayed with him.

“There, isn’t that nice?” he cooed. Molly nodded absently. He brought a finger towards her face, slowly guiding it towards her forehead. “I’ll bet you could... just...”

He tapped Molly on her third eye and suddenly pushed her onto the couch.

“Sleep.”

Molly fell like a rag doll onto the expensive leather, eyes serenely shut.

Sherlock sprinted over to the sofa.

“She’s fine,” Moriarty tsked. He shucked off his jacket and chucked it behind him onto the carpet.

He turned to look at Sherlock, who now observed the lolling Molly from a few feet away. “Yes, she sure is fine,” Moriarty finished with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Sherlock ignored the innuendo. “Hypnotic trance.” It wasn’t a question.

“Give the man a bikkie!”

Sherlock had pored over hypnotic techniques and applications for a time, in search of ways to divest clients and other persons of interests of salient information more efficiently. After a number of failed attempts to put his knowledge into practice, Sherlock realized one had to actually be good at—or care enough about—reading people for these techniques to succeed. Moriarty of course knew of this obsession, having hacked into Sherlock’s browsing history.

“Now, would you like to go first, or shall I?” Moriarty smirked. He loosened his tie.

Sherlock scowled.

“Sloppy seconds for Sherly, then! Don’t forget dear—this is a competition,” Moriarty declared and plopped down on the couch next to Molly’s slumped form.

“Mollllly...” he crooned. “Deeper down. So deep.”

She exhaled a large breath and her body further slackened.

“Such a good girl. Now why don’t you sit up and make yourself comfortable,” Moriarty said.

Molly’s eyes remained shut as she hoisted herself upright and laid her heavy head against the back of the sofa, settling into the leather. Moriarty leaned over to murmur in her ear, but kept a glittering eye on Sherlock, who remained on full alert.

“That’s right. It’s so nice to be like this—any of those nettlesome thoughts of your own just flying right out of that pretty little head, to be replaced by the sound of my voice. It’s so relaxing to be mindless... and I’ll just bet it turns you on.”

Molly clenched her thighs together. She wasn’t sure what to do with her feelings of want, but was relatively certain she’d soon be given direction. Life was always so complicated, so noisy. It was ironic that this peace was provided by a lunatic psychopath. And Sherlock was here. She knew he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. The edge of danger just added an element of intrigue and desire.

“Oh yes, not a care in the world when your mind is being controlled by a professional.” Moriarty winked at Sherlock. “It’s almost like being… a doll. A mindless Molly dolly, here for our pleasure. Isn’t that right, poppet?”

Molly nodded her drowsy head and whispered, “Yes.” She felt her body and brain flow around Moriarty’s words. Her usual self was still floating around somewhere, but it dove down into her own vast ocean to burrow in its calming, sandy bottom. She allowed Moriarty access to the peaks and caps above, to swirl and splash and eddy as he pleased. The question “why?” was unfathomable in this state.

“Since our pleasure is our dolly’s pleasure and our dolly’s pleasure is our pleasure, there’s really nothing you can do but feel fucking amazing. I’ll bet just hearing me say the words is getting the slutty little dolly all worked up. _Fucking. Amazing._ ”

A groan rumbled forth from Molly’s lips as a tingle coursed over her body. The leather creaked beneath her as she snuggled into the feel of it.

“I think you’ll find even pain makes you damp between those gorgeous thighs,” Moriarty purred. Letting that thought soak in, he waited a moment before latching his pearly whites around the tender skin of Molly’s throat, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Molly moaned appreciatively as a damp spot formed beneath her.

Sherlock took a half-step forward. He knew he would eventually have to intervene, either to stop this madness or to… win. Despite his brilliance, he had no idea how to proceed on either front.

“You said you weren’t going to touch her,” he protested.

“I didn’t touch her. I _bit_ her,” Moriarty rejoindered and undid his belt. “Dolly, you’ll remain deep in your beautiful trance, but open those eyes.”

Obediently, Molly’s eyelids fluttered up.

“Look at me.”

Sleepy pupils the size of saucers took Moriarty in.

“I’ll just bet you can’t wait to get your hands on some goodies. Imagine how good that’s going to feel. Now why don’t you reach in here and pull out a treat for yourself?” He unzipped his fly.

Molly’s hand crept towards the developing bulge in Moriarty’s trousers. She dug in gently but without hesitation, feeling her way past his silk boxers. A puff of air left Moriarty’s lungs as she attained her prize. He directed his shark’s tooth grin at Sherlock. The combination of distress and burgeoning lust in his rival’s face did as much to solidify Moriarty’s erection as Molly’s grasp upon it.

“What a good dolly,” Moriarty breathed. “I’m so hard in your lovely little dolly hand. Every noise of pleasure you elicit from me will only add to your own, make you want more.”

Molly squeezed Moriarty’s uncut cock. His “mmph” of approval sent a shiver down her spine. Reverently, she slowly stroked him.

“That feels fucking delightful,” he sighed. He was right—of course he was. Each little murmur and purr added to the heat that grew between Molly’s legs and spurred her on.

“I’m sure that dishy dolly mouth of yours would feel just delicious around my cock. For both of us.”

Molly licked her lips and lowered her face to Moriarty’s lap.

Sherlock once again found himself edging closer to the sofa. He had to do _something_ , and soon.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Moriarty breathed as her lips slid around his prick. It didn’t take her long to find a pace that had him grunting and groaning, motivated as she was by the exhilaration his sounds injected into her. She was tuned into his body as much as he was her mind. Squirming on the leather, desperate for friction, Molly began to mew around Moriarty’s cock. He pressed his head into the back of the couch and closed his eyes. A calculated movement—he knew Sherlock was unlikely to approach while faced with the ardent stare currently locked-down behind his own eyelids.

As Molly worked herself into a frenzy around Moriarty’s length, Sherlock hardly noticed that he’d tiptoed to a step away from the hedonistic scene, the kind he hadn’t even allowed himself to imagine.

Molly had never given Jim from IT head like this. Between her fervent ministrations and the sound of Sherlock’s shallowing breath, Moriarty's willpower was normally as solid as his hard-on. His hips started to rock in time with her movements, but this was a marathon, not a sprint. His self-control needed to stay intact. He had a game to win.

“Touch yourself, poppet,” Moriarty said between gritted teeth.

Molly’s hand dug under her skirt to her sopping cunt, hoping to bring herself relief.

He needed her to beat him to the finish line, and it was turning into a close race.

“Cum for me, dolly. Now!”

Molly pushed herself over the edge, squealing around Moriarty’s cock. He recited the digits of pi in his head to resist the violent vibrations of her vocal cords around him. As her orgasm subsided he uttered, “That’s enough for now, dolly.”

She was reluctant to release him from the ecstatic prison of her mouth, but obeyed with a “pop.”

“One for me,” he breathed with a dark chortle.

Moriarty inhaled deeply to collect himself before opening his eyes. They met Sherlock’s, smoldering.

“Now don’t forget, Molly dolly’s got two daddies,” Moriarty said. “Don’t go neglecting our Sherlock. I’m sure his moans will turn you on _almost_ as much as mine.”

A flushed Molly faced the tall man standing before her. She crawled onto her knees on the couch, putting her face level with his fly.

The smell of her sex wafted into Sherlock’s nostrils as he peered down at the wanton woman. Hunger flashed in her normally complacent eyes.

“Go on then,” Moriarty encouraged, folding his arms smugly across his chest, casual despite the raging erection that caressed the bottom buttons of his perfectly-starched shirt.

Molly suddenly threw her arms around Sherlock’s waist, rubbing her face against his crotch like a kitten.

Sherlock’s eyes flew to the ceiling at the sensation. The only way to stop this was to finish it, he told himself. Sometimes you’ve got to join them to beat them. This was a means to an end and nothing more. He was going to have to take on his role whole-heartedly if he wanted to win.

Sherlock’s internal pep talk was interrupted as his half-mast cock hardened under Molly’s zealous nuzzling. He stepped back, forcing Molly to release her hold or fall to the floor. She tensed visibly and pressed her lips together in worry and confusion as her conscious mind threatened to regain its control.

“Molly,” Sherlock began, in an attempt to wield his baritone as a weapon for good. “You’re such a good little...” He faltered.

“Dolly,” Moriarty offered helpfully.

Sherlock kept his attention on Molly and cleared his throat. “… dolly.” he finished. The fire behind her eyes reignited. Her shoulders relaxed again as she propped herself up with straightened arms on the edge of the couch.

Sherlock shucked his overcoat and scarf, tossing them over the arm of the sofa. Molly ground the heel of her foot into her wetness in anticipation. The passion and complete trust in her glassy gaze as she ogled up at him cemented Sherlock’s resolve. He dug into his mind palace for every last scrap of relevant information on hypnosis. Most important: positive phrasing of suggestion.

“I know you’ve always found my voice _irresistible_. I’d lay odds you could orgasm from just the sound of it.”

Molly was rapt, hanging on Sherlock’s every word. Ironically, he found her attention distracting, pushing aside the image of her lips around his own member.

“Close your eyes.”

Molly obeyed.

“The words don’t even matter. Whatever _utterance_ I make, whatever _verbiage_ I choose...”

Molly shuddered each time he stressed a particular word.

“… will not only _arouse_ you, but bringing you _closer_ to _climax_ with every syllable.”

She settled back into her slick heel, grinding it on her clit at the welcome invasion of his voice. In his periphery, Sherlock thought he saw Moriarty let loose a little shiver of pleasure as well.

Sex in general had never been of particular interest to Sherlock, never mind dirty talk. Even though he’d told Molly she’d find pleasure in whatever he might say, regardless of the content, he thought some salacious phrases would keep them both in the mood better than reciting the periodic table. He decided that the words would come more easily to him in a foreign tongue.

“ _Tu es lapide luteo parum diligis_ ,” Sherlock began. Molly’s head rolled back with a sigh of ecstasy. It surprised him that he enjoyed the contrast of the dry, dead language to make this woman so wet.

“ _Ta belle chatte est tellement mouillée pour moi._ ” Molly’s grade-school French allowed her to catch the gist. Her appreciation was apparent as she groaned, momentum building.

“ _Ich will deine heißen Lippen um meinen Schwanz._ ” His voice became more hoarse but assured. “ _Ich möchte Dich betteln hören_.”

Every articulation translated into a growing tension in Molly’s belly. She writhed on the couch next to a curious Moriarty. He found himself unable to look away from Sherlock.

“ _Bōkyaku ni anata o fakku shitaidesu,_ ” Sherlock breathed. Molly breathed harder.

Moriarty was moderately impressed—not by Sherlock’s knowledge of foreign filthy talk, but at his creative use of linguistics. Sherlock had embraced hypnosis for erotic purposes at the speed of sound. Moriarty mentally patted himself on the back. All it took was some proper motivation.

  
“ _Ba mhaith leat boladh na contúirte i gcónaí._ ” Moriarty’s ears perked up at the Irish, as did an eyebrow. Now _that_ was interesting! “ _Tá tú chomh hálainn nuair a chuireann tú chugamsa mar seo._ ”

The phrase may have been clunky in his native language, but the essence caused Moriarty’s cock to pulse nonetheless. Worked up into a right lather beside him, a mewling Molly jostled him through the couch cushions.

Sherlock crouched to put his face level with Molly’s contorted features.

“Now, Molly. Now!”

A wail escaped Molly’s lips as she crashed headlong into orgasm at Sherlock’s behest. He felt invincible in that moment, the same as when he solved a tricky case.

There was a fascinated glimmer in Sherlock’s eye. He would have preferred to see how long he could make this particular orgasm last—for science—but he had a game to win. Molly’s spasms began to subside. She leaned back into the couch in relief.

“Oh, this has only begun,” Sherlock rumbled. “On the count of three you’ll come all over again.”

Molly shuddered at the mere suggestion. She felt her insides clench at the prospect.

“One...”

A salacious groan came from Molly. Watching with lupine interest, Moriarty laced his fingers behind his head, elbows sticking out like giant wolf ears.

“Two...”

Molly jerked her torso to attention. The breeze through the windows dragged her moans across the Thames.

“Three!”

And then she was sobbing with the violence of the pounding waves inside her.

As Molly’s convulsion faded, Moriarty interrupted with a slow clap. Sherlock rose to his full height, towering over the couch. His scowl betrayed equal parts suspicion and satisfaction.

“Two for you. Bra- _vo_!” Moriarty said. “Molly, why don’t you properly thank our Sherlock.”

Molly’s eyes popped open with glee and she hastily buried her face in Sherlock’s crotch again. Between the swiftness of Molly’s fervor and his own biological reactions, Sherlock found himself unable to extricate himself this time. She pulled away just far enough to unbutton and unzip his trousers, reached into his briefs and yanked free his erection. Molly beamed up at him, clearly in her happy place. His breath hitched. She licked her lips, then enveloped his cock.

Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes. It had been ages since he’d been orally serviced—he’d forgotten how stimulating it could be. It seemed Molly enjoyed herself from the little whimpers she hummed into his length. Sherlock recalled that hypnosis was unlikely to make a subject act on something their consciousness objected to, but even his odd moral code told him he should bring this to a halt.

So he would stop her.

Yes, he would.

In just a moment.

Molly’s whimpers turned to grunts and the rhythm of her mouth suddenly changed to a deeper, more steady pace. Sherlock’s eyes flew open to see Moriarty’s hand wrapped around Molly’s ponytail, directing her head like a puppet master. The vision was, unfortunately, achingly erotic. Sherlock inadvertently thrust his hips to achieve maximum depth.

“Bonus points if I get you off, too,” Moriarty simpered.

A reminder of the challenge at hand was enough to tear Sherlock out of his carnal reverie.

“The rules stated there would be no touching,” Sherlock puffed.

A seductive leer crawled across Moriarty’s face. He traced a line down Molly’s arse and pulled up her skirt and lab coat enough to dip a finger into her dripping cunt, controlling her from both ends. Her eyes rolled up.

“Rules,” Moriarty tutted.

He held Molly’s head motionless for a moment. Her lips barely retained purchase around the head of Sherlock’s cock as Moriarty whispered in her ear. Sherlock found the lack of friction nigh unbearable. As Moriarty released her hair, Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s hips in a bear hug and thankfully returned to her ministrations.

Suddenly Sherlock was thrown off-balance as Moriarty leveraged Molly’s grip on Sherlock to propel them both to the side. Sherlock fell to a seated position on the couch, with Molly still on her knees, her flank now pressed up against the back cushions. She whined as Sherlock’s prick popped out of her mouth in transit, but gobbled him back up once gravity and momentum had completed their tasks.

Moriarty climbed up behind Molly’s parted thighs. He flipped up her skirt. Ground his hard-on against her bottom. He yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his bespoke shirt and tossed them to the floor, exposing a lean chest with a dusting of hair. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation in wingtips, with his trousers and pants hanging halfway down his gorgeous arse, but even this was more naked than Jim Moriarty had intended to get.

“Besides, rival-mine,” Moriarty purred, “I said I didn’t _need_ to touch her to achieve the desired effect.”

Moriarty stroked his knob across Molly’s wetness, the tease winding up the already tight coil inside her. Sherlock was too stunned and aroused to act.

“I think you and I can both agree that this is so much more fun. Our little Molly here would probably agree too, but slutty dollies aren’t known for their power of perception.”

He pressed just the head of his cock into her pussy. She agreed with muffled moans around Sherlock’s prick. A rare protective instinct—not jealousy, definitely not that—reared up in Sherlock.

“Moriarty,” he choked out.

The smaller man’s hard-on throbbed involuntarily at the sound of his name.

Molly’s lips felt like that fictional paradise in the sky around Sherlock’s throbbing cock. Sweat beaded on his brow. “St-stop this now.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Oh Sherly, you’re such a fusspot. I’ve had her coffee dosed with progestogen every morning for months now and we’re all clean. I’m not a _fucking_ _amateur_.” Moriarty snorted at his own joke like he wasn’t about to roger the living daylights out of the woman between them. Molly groaned in frustration on the end of his prick.

Sherlock was relatively certain that he was included in the clean “we,” and began to deduce where his adversary might have obtained a blood sample.

Moriarty’s impatience flared at Sherlock’s wandering mind. He suddenly drove up to the hilt into Molly’s sopping snatch. With the momentum he leaned forward and forced her to deep throat Sherlock. Her muted yelp conveyed jubilant surprise. All rational thought banished, Sherlock’s head sank into the back of the sofa as Moriarty pounded Molly relentlessly, one cock guiding her mouth around the other.

It was too much for her to bear. Molly squealed and her pussy fluttered around Moriarty.

“Two points for me,” he panted enthusiastically. “Maybe three if you shoot that posh load down our dolly’s throat.”

Sherlock certainly was edging towards that moment. He panicked and shoved Molly off him. Leaping from the couch, Sherlock’s trousers and briefs dropped around his ankles. In the tangle he fell to the floor.

Moriarty wrenched himself out of Molly and grabbed her by the jaw.

“Molly dolly,” he growled in her ear. “Get Sherlock.”

Molly nodded like an automaton and slithered off the sofa. Sherlock pulled himself back a few paces with his hands but was stilled by the devastatingly sexy sight of an unabashedly horny Molly on her hands and knees crawling towards him. If he’d ever been inclined to fantasy, this would have been one of them.

She straddled him, shedding her lab coat and blouse. Resting her weight on her hands beside his biceps on the plush carpet, Molly’s soggy muff rubbed obscenely against Sherlock’s cock, still slick with her saliva. Face-to-face like this, a glimmer of her usual self shone through the haze.

“Sherlock,” she whispered, “is this what you want?”

Her soulful eyes were so full of melancholy and longing. Paired with the delicious friction between them, all Sherlock could do was grab Molly by that steadfast face and kiss her with the decades of passion he’d denied himself.

Molly was once again plunged into mindless bliss. Grinding against Sherlock as he devoured her mouth, she fumbled with his shirt buttons. Frantically unclasping her bra, she chucked it aside and pressed her tiny tits to Sherlock’s chest as best she could without breaking the kiss. Sherlock ran his hands down the soft skin of Molly’s back, grabbing her arse to press their naughty bits together more closely. They groaned in unison.

During their frenetic rutting, the head of Sherlock’s cock suddenly found purchase in Molly’s lubricious cunt. Their lips parted with a smacking noise and both parties froze. Wide eyes met like two deer in the headlights of a limousine they’d momentarily forgotten about. Moriarty perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, thumb unconsciously caressing his lower lip in fascination.

Sherlock was too far gone to pull away now. His long fingers dug into Molly hips as he began to thrust into her. Molly ground into him, rubbing her clit into his pubic bone. They worked into a sticky rhythm, blissfully oblivious to the gleam in Moriarty’s ogling eyes.

He had let them have their moment. Time to climb back in the ring.

“Oh Molly dolly!” Moriarty sang. Her ears tuned into his irresistible lilt, despite the fantastic jostling she received from below.

“Turn around and face me,” he continued. “I want to watch your face, you decadent slut.”

Try as he might to stay her obeisance, leverage was not on Sherlock’s side. His protesting grasp only managed to keep his cock embedded inside of Molly as she swiveled around into a reverse cowgirl position. She now squatted above Sherlock, eyes locked with Moriarty’s.

“There’s a good girl,” Moriarty purred. He flapped the back of his fingers at her. “Carry on, dolly.”

Molly held onto Sherlock’s bony pelvis behind her as she bounced. Though frustrated at his lack of situational control, her steed still groaned at the resumption of that delicious friction. The silvery glint of orgasm was in view over Molly’s horizon as her thighs trembled with the effort.

“I can tell you’re getting close, sweet dolly,” Moriarty said with a cunning grin, “but I think you’ll find it juuuuust out of your grasp.”

In answer to this challenge, Sherlock grabbed Molly’s hips, ramming their bodies together. Molly cried out as Sherlock’s cock brutally bottomed out in her pussy again and again. She thrashed as she hung over the edge, unable to plummet in.

“So close, yet so far,” Moriarty smirked.

Sherlock sat up abruptly, forcing Molly to support her weight on his thighs. He snaked a finger around to her clit and wrapped an arm around her waist to aid in her rebounding maneuvers. Sherlock had always read Molly like a book, but even that skill couldn’t help him to push her into the little death.

The scoundrel had cock-blocked Sherlock—in mid-coitus!

Molly squeaked as Sherlock heaved her over to the side, shaft still lodged inside her. He hoisted her leg into the air, supporting the bend of her knee with his arm. Sherlock could properly pound away now. Based on the pitch and intensity of Molly’s staccato trills, Sherlock varied his angle and thrust as if tuning his violin.

So engrossed was he in pleasuring Molly, Sherlock failed to notice when Moriarty stood. The smaller man’s prick bobbed obscenely from the fly of his trousers. He strode behind the amorous two.

“Oh, Sherly, I knew you had it in you. Or in her, to be more precise.”

The awareness of Moriarty’s proximity caused Sherlock to halt suddenly.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account, darling,” Moriarty declared.

Molly panted in vexation, wriggling on Sherlock’s cock. He rolled his hips slowly despite himself.

Moriarty leaned over. The hot breath of his nemesis in his ear sent chills of dismay and delectation down Sherlock’s spine. “You’ve put in such a good effort, so I’ll give you this one for free.”

“Molly dolly, it’s time.” Moriarty cast his lurid gaze to her. “Break on through to the other side!”

Molly wailed as the biggest orgasm yet smashed over her senses. She reached behind to sink her nails into Sherlock’s hip as she flailed against him.

Pleased, Moriarty rose. “Dolly, keep it roooooolling!” he crooned, whirling one finger in the air.

Molly’s pussy clutched at Sherlock’s prick with such vigor that he instinctively thrust into her, lest she push him out. He jammed his free arm under her neck, screwed his eyes shut and held on for dear life.

Stealthy as a cat, Moriarty used the distraction to drape himself on the carpet facing Molly, chin cradled in his hand. He leered at the scene from mere inches away, languidly stroking his cock.

“Honestly,” he breathed earnestly as Molly’s bucking subsided, “you’ve both exceeded my expectations.”

Molly and Sherlock’s eyes both flew to the rakish face before them.

“I think we’ll have to split that point though, Sherls. Two-point-five across the board. Time for the tie-breaker.”

Sherlock didn’t know how much more he could take. He’d kept himself from ejaculation for so long now that his testicles ached with a struggle his body dearly longed to lose. However, losing was not an option.

Molly was a blissful, pliable mess adhered to Sherlock’s front with sweat. Both trembled with the effort of keeping Molly’s leg elevated and Sherlock reluctantly extracted his numb arm. He had to lean in to keep his restless prick in its rightful place.

Moriarty slid closer and her knee naturally settled over his thigh. He craned his neck to murmur into Molly’s ear.

“Oh yes, that’s very nice, Molly dolly. Are you ready for another round?” he asked, locking eyes in an intimately adversarial stare with the other man. “I know that Sherlock is.”

Sherlock tried not to bristle at this—his rival would not get a rise (ahem, reaction) out of him again. A plan was necessary if he was to finish this game on top (ahem, victorious). The gears of his brilliant mind spun full-tilt.

Moriarty enjoyed his handiwork as Molly nodded like a bobble-head figurine, her eyes glazed with pleasure. It took Sherlock a moment to realize that her renewed mewling was a result of Moriarty rubbing the head of his cock on her clit. Moriarty drew in a breath to plant some new deviance into her brain.

Sherlock mentally braced himself. The time to act was now.

With the arm that lay under Molly’s neck Sherlock grabbed Moriarty by the back of his head. As their lips crashed together, Moriarty let out a muffle of pleasant shock.

In awe Molly peered up best she could, her torso crushed between the two men as their tongues fought for dominance. She rocked against Sherlock as Moriarty’s cock slid against her already overstimulated clitoris.

Sherlock had forgotten about the vixen on his prick momentarily as the kiss became a passionate quest for vengeance, but dug his fingers into her hip at the reminder. Though he could feel his own orgasm rising again, Sherlock tried to keep the endgame in mind. He let her fuck him, working herself into a fever pitch. Her arm shot out, wrapping around Moriarty to gain more traction. From her keening and the clenching of her cunt, Sherlock could tell she was close too.

Moriarty grunted into Sherlock’s luscious lips. It was now or never. Sherlock released Molly’s hip and jammed his hand between the other two to grab Moriarty’s prick. As Sherlock took over pumping the smaller man’s cock into Molly’s mons, Moriarty broke away from the kiss with an expression of genuine surprise that melted into amorous abandon.

As if a part of her was still cognizant of the game, Molly lifted her head to sink her teeth into Moriarty’s neck.

Thrusting deep into Molly, Sherlock commanded, “Come!”

Molly wailed her orgasm into Moriarty’s flesh, biting harder. A look of pained astonishment painted Moriarty’s features as his hips jerked and more come than he knew he contained erupted forth. It coated Molly’s nether regions and shuddering thighs, pushed into her pussy by Sherlock’s cock as he hammered away.

Sherlock had an inkling to pull out of Molly, but it was too late for that. He shoved the other man’s face away, and a limp Moriarty sprawled onto the carpet with a satisfied hum. Sherlock enveloped Molly in a crushing embrace. His moans became defenseless, vulnerable, his movements jagged. With one final thrust he filled Molly to the brim, his spunk mingling with that of his rival.

Moriarty’s breath returned to him along with his trademark smirk. As Sherlock regained his senses, he pulled out of Molly with a “pop” and sat up. Unsure of how her conscious mind would react to this situation, Sherlock thought it best to let Molly remain entranced—she had practically blacked out from her last orgasm anyhow. He laid a hand on her damp tresses and looked to Moriarty.

“The game is mine,” Sherlock huffed, slick with sweat.

“Oh my darling Sherly, you were _wonderful_. Can’t we just bask in the afterglow?” Moriarty sighed, feigning offense.

“Give me the codes,” Sherlock said gravely.

As he tucked his spent cock away, Moriarty frowned momentarily at his semen-stained trousers before snapping into a chortle.

“Give… them… to… me!” Sherlock snarled.

“Still so forceful!” Moriarty said, standing. As Sherlock’s eyes burned into him, Moriarty scooped his jacket up from the middle of the room and slipped it on, bare chest gleaming beneath.

“You’ve won the battle but lost the war, dear.” He mocked Sherlock’s serious tone. “There are… no… codes!” Abandoning his shirt and tie, Moriarty wheeled around and sauntered out the door.

A moment later he popped his head back in. “What, no witty rejoinder? Now that _is_ a surprise!” Moriarty sang. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he laughed and was gone.

Sherlock could only stare as the patter of Moriarty’s wingtips across the concrete subsided. He slumped down behind the motionless Molly. Hesitantly he draped an arm over her, just to keep away the chill from the breeze that blew in from the Thames, he told himself. His mind reeled so swiftly at this sudden defeat that it seemed to halt completely.

 _Mycroft can never find out about this_ , was the first thought that broke through.

He rose, covering Molly with his coat and slowly pulled on his discarded attire. It was probably best if he was dressed when he roused her. This was not an explanation he looked forward to. The sounds of sirens grew near from below, and a helicopter’s searchlight raked across the building.

Crouching, Sherlock laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Molly, on the count of three you’ll awake from your trance. One. Two.” Sherlock took a deep breath in preparation. “Three.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED! What will Sherly do?
> 
> This chapter has been updated and improved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews always welcome. I'm a little late to the Sherlock smut party, but I have more deviance in the works so stay tuned! In the meantime, check out my Moriarty love song, "Burn the Heart Out of You" at the link below, and the Doctor Who smut I've written under this pen name. Mwah!
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/reecypontiff/burn-the-heart-out-of-you


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